I have nowhere to go. So the world is my home. I wander, aimless. But yes, I have my dreams. I have hope. That someday I will find home. Till such day, I must travel.

I know what I have left behind. I had everything that you have. I had a home attached to my store. My wife. My children. I had a normal life. My parents lived with me. It was a nice life. We had our weekly outings in my van. We had our share of movies and eating out. And visits to the parks, the beaches and the mountains.

And then one day, I had nothing. Except my own life. I was away on my trip to the city to purchase stock for the store. That was when I heard the news. And when I came back, there was nothing left. Just burnt, barren land.

I ran. And since then I’ve been running. I don’t know why they take the life of the innocent. We didn’t fight with anyone. We were simple God-fearing folks. Why did God look away? Why didn’t he protect them?

My mind is numb now. I don’t have any answers. All I know is hunger. Or is it thirst? The initial weeks at the refugee camp were good in that aspect. I didn’t have to worry much about that. Meals were regular. There was a bunker to sleep on and a temporary roof over my head. Those days went by in a haze.

After the days in the refugee camp, I gained some strength and the listlessness just gave up. I wanted to survive. Though I really didn’t care why. Life was all about finding a job that would give me my next meal. I did everything. Things I would never imagine doing in my homeland. Here I am an unknown. A nameless, homeless stranger who is different. One who looks different, speaks a strange language and never, ever to be trusted. That’s the view of the people around me.

Not that it matters. Nothing can hurt me anymore. I know it’s all maya. An illusion. Reality is the next meal. Reality is a place to stay. Everything else does not really matter. At least not for me.

I don’t get paid what is rightfully due. I know it. The locals have seen my strength. And they know that I cannot demand. Not that I cannot, but they sense that I will not. But it’s ok. For a man who has lost everything, money means nothing.

Anyway I have enough now to make a trip back into the hills and come back with stocks for the winter. I can bring some good woollen shawls, sweaters, jackets and shoes. I can sell them for a price much lesser than the stores and still make a profit.

One good thing is that there are many of us here. All with similar stories. There is an understanding. A bonding. We look alike. We share history, language, religion, customs and pain.

And above all, we have no place to call home. I do wonder sometimes about going back. Somehow my homeland isn’t my home anymore. Everything has changed. There is nothing there to go back to. No one to welcome me.

And here, I will always be the stranger. I do look strange. Can’t blame them either. I am thankful they gave refuge. But I know I’ll never be welcome.

I guess I’ll just have to live with it. Till someday I have a place I can go back to. And my heart will recognize it as home.